


Queen of Hearts

by DoreyG



Series: Always a Girl!Batman Verse [1]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Episode tag: Jokers Wild, F/M, Flirting, Genderswap, Ruth Wayne would make a very bad saint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His eyes fix upon and trail across her body with a lascivious amount of attention on her second trip around the room. And, forgive her Alfred and mom and dad and possibly even <i>Jim</i>, she finds that she can’t quite <i>resist</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Hearts

His eyes fix upon and trail across her body with a lascivious amount of attention on her second trip around the room. And, forgive her Alfred and mom and dad and possibly even _Jim_ , she finds that she can’t quite _resist_ \- turning on her heel and advancing back to the table with a sway of hips that’s just _designed_ to attract attention.

Never say that she doesn’t have a sense of fun, even if she _does_ spend most of her time punching it out of others.

“Say… Don’t I know you?” The Joker’s eyes, satisfyingly she _must_ admit, rove over her as she slowly sits down at the table – crosses her long legs, one smooth and brushing movement, and flashes her most flirtatious smile, “Ruth Wayne! So, _this_ is how your family made all those billions.”

“The secret’s out,” she purrs, and makes sure to lean forwards – give him an _open_ view down the front of her dress, “and you are…?”

It works. His eyes, gratifyingly, fix on the swell of her breasts – the tempting push of pale skin against dark fabric. She has, to her delight, to clear her throat _twice_ before he actually looks back up at her – takes in the amused curve of her lips, the slightly cruel sparkle in her eyes that could be _easily_ mistaken for attraction.

“Oh,” he coughs, shameless in that specific way that only the Joker can pull off, and flips the cards in his hands – a run of endless, flickering paper that’s probably supposed to impress her, “just a nameless clown shuffling my life away…”

His eyes are still flickering down to her breasts, lust and invitation written clear on his face.

She likes to think that she’s not a _cruel_ person, not psychologically anyway, but this is just too _easy_. A rush of pleasure that only a saint, and she’s never thought of herself as a _saint_ , could resist, “too bad it has to be in such _gruesome_ surroundings.”

And his entire face _twitches_ , lust not disappearing _entirely_ but anger rearing so obviously that it’s only her excessive experience of reading the Joker’s face that allows her to detect it. The cards go all over the table, scattering with a frenzied lack of care that she has to bite back a laugh at. The Joker’s eyes fix on her, and only _long_ years of experience stop her from spluttering out a snort, “don’t care for the décor?”

“Not hardly,” oh, and it’s _cruel_ \- but she allows herself a chuckle, allows herself the sick pleasure found in watching the Joker’s eyes downright boggle with rage, “all those _horrible_ faces grinning at me. That would do things to my mind.”

She watches the Joker’s teeth grind, the Joker’s eyes continue to _pop_ , the Joker’s hands – so long and thin – clench and unclench on the smooth material of the table.

“After a while,” she allows, and smiles a smooth smile.

“Who says you have one?” The Joker hisses, under his breath to anybody who hadn’t spent the vast majority of their life trying to sense when somebody was planning to stab them in the back, and her smile only grows wider. Such fun, such _fun_.

“Yeah,” later she’ll lie to herself and claim this interaction as actually relevant in any way, for now she only leans forward again – watches his eyes drop unwillingly to her breasts – and grins the grin of a tiger in heat, “I’d be ready for the laughing academy if I had to stare at that _ugly_ clown all day.”

She watches him.

“Why I oughta…”

_Watches_ him. The clench of his fists, the anger in his eyes, the grinding of his teeth, the sheer _rage_ (made so much worse by the lingering fingers of lust) flickering across his face, the angry flush of his skin _almost_ making its way through the make-up - _almost_ showing the former human lurking underneath.

(She gets so few pleasures in this life, dates constantly being sent home or interrupted or threatened with violent death. It’s _nice_ to indulge herself, just this once.)

“Hit me.”


End file.
